Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Here's another chapter for you all. Sorry if it seems really rushed, especially towards the end; I'm going on holiday in the morning, and I wanted to get this finished for you all to enjoy. On the plus side, it means more writing time whilst I'm off! It also means quite a big edit, as there is something important about GLaDOS that I haven't quite got across as well as I'd hoped. I was blinded by my own knowledge of this plot. It happens a lot XD .

Once again, thank you to everyone who continues to read and enjoy this story, and a big thank you to everybody who has helped me to improve and/ or notice things that haven't been put across in the right manner. You know who you are, and each of you is a sweetheart :) .

Enjoy, folks!

Chapter Thirty-Three

Remembrance

'Shit!'

Chell woke quickly, pulling out her gun in a matter of seconds and aiming into the thick shadows cast by the warehouse walls. Frantically, she searched for those eyes in the dark; those cold, calculating eyes, and the slightest glimpse of a briefcase. Finding nothing in the darkness she turned to Wheatley, furious and more than prepared to kick him for waking her, when she saw the large gash on his forearm, the deep crimson highlighted by the moonlight. The cut looked quite deep – it was little wonder that he had yelped.

'Sorry,' Wheatley muttered, avoiding her gaze, 'didn't mean to wake you or anything.'

But Chell was too busy looking through his backpack to pay much attention to him. She rummaged through their meagre belongings for one of the many medi-packs that she had scavenged from the wreckage of the train. She was so very thankful that they had found their things, hidden in a ruined crate. It meant that they could eat, they had medical aid, and that Wheatley had the means to fix the hinges of his glasses when they had later found them in the mud. She had also found a gun for Wheatley to use, and a crowbar with which they had used to break into this old warehouse.

Finally, she came across one of the kits and pulled it free of the bag. Finding the appropriate wipe, she tore open the sleeve of Wheatley's tracksuit (much to his dismay), and began to clear away the blood that continued to seep through the gash.

'I don't know how I did it.' He groaned. 'I'm a complete disaster area. I should come with my own health warning!'

Chell looked to the ground and found a particularly sharp piece of protruding floor panelling. It was barely noticeable, but it was lined with his blood none the less. Calmly she pointed it out to him, and Wheatley squinted as he examined it. 'That. Really? Bloody Hell...'

She smirked before inspecting the wound further. It wasn't as bad as she had originally thought, and now that she had cleaned it she felt certain that it would not become infected. All she had to do was to dress the wound properly, and to make Wheatley take his tetanus shot.

And Wheatley hated needles.

'Ow! Sorry, could you just... could you just be a little more gentle? Ow!'

Chell rolled her eyes as she placed a soft cotton pad over his cut, before promptly winding a long bandage around his arm, looping and weaving her hands in a graceful circle, until the pad was held firmly, but gently, in place.

'Thanks.' He smiled when she had finished her ministrations. 'I know it didn't seem that I was grateful at all, but I am. Thanks.'

Chell knew that he was grateful – he just didn't cope well with pain. He never had, and it seemed as though he never would. The main thing was that he was no longer bleeding on the floor, but as she produced the syringe containing the bright green philtre that would prevent tetanus, among other things, Wheatley's eyes widened and he quickly backed away and into the wall. 'No. No, no, no, you are NOT sticking that thing in me.'

Chell frowned, sighing to show her frustration.

'No! You're not the one getting a bloody great needle jammed into you! No!'

'Oh come on, Wheatley. It's far better than the alternative. Like lockjaw, for example.' Yet, unable to get her point across to him, she gritted her teeth instead. Wheatley flinched when he realised just what the grating sound was. 'Er, you'll have no teeth left by the time you've finished doing that.'

Chell brandished the syringe at him and, with a yelp, Wheatley ducked behind the nearest available hiding spot – a giant, wrecked girder that had fallen to the floor and had become rusty thanks to years of neglect.

'Wheatley, for the love of God, come out of there!' She pushed herself to her feet, following the path that he took around the metal construct, and quickly pinning him against it with her knee. He looked between the knee in his chest to the syringe in his captor's hand, laughing nervously as his eyes finally focussed on Chell's. 'Do we really have to do this?' He watched as she nodded in conformation. With a resigned moan he offered up his arm to her.

Within two seconds the job was done. He had felt the needle go into his skin, but he had not registered any pain. Rather there had been only a slight stinging sensation, but this had passed as soon as it had occurred.

'You know, you should have been a doctor or something.' He smiled, rubbing at the spot in which Chell had injected him. 'People would flock to you – the doctor that causes no pain. Brilliant.'

Chell wasn't sure if that was a reasonable suggestion or not. She may be good with first-aid and basic medical care, but the deaths that had followed in her wake nullified his opinion immediately. Weren't doctors supposed to keep people alive? So far the only person she had been able to keep alive was Wheatley, and the balance of his life was often thrown into chaos. Because of her. Because he was with her. Because she had created this God-forsaken mess in the first place.

The Combine were not her fault, she knew that. The blame for that lay squarely on Black Mesa's shoulders. No, she was to blame for Aperture's downfall. If her father hadn't sacrificed himself for her, then the company would have never fallen into Lucian Johnson's hands. GLaDOS would not have been created. Her mother would not be trapped inside GLaDOS. If it had not been for her, then the denizens of Aperture could have lived in the bowls of Aperture for the whole duration of the Combine occupation. Aperture had its own greenhouses for vegetables, labs to create vitamin supplements. It had a water purification centre, and recycled air efficiently. The reactor core was so advanced for Earth technology that it put even The Combine's technology to shame, and it could have powered the facility for hundreds of years.

But no. She had ruined it all.

Sensing a shift in her mood, Wheatley pushed himself up from the floor and led her back to the spot that they had been relaxing in. 'Just chill for a bit. I mean, you do everything, you need to. Go back to sleep. I won't damage myself this time, I swear.'

Chell gave him a grateful smile and lay herself down on the hard floor. If you were tired enough then anywhere was comfortable, and Chell was far beyond tired. She was past the point of exhaustion. In a matter of minutes she had fallen asleep once more, her gun not too far away from her.

Wheatley sat in silence, listening intently to the faint sound of the almost non-existent wind outside. He hated guard duty. The long, prolonged hours of solitude and quiet drove him to sheer, absent-minded boredom. But it had to be done; Chell needed to sleep, and God only knew how useful he had been in these endeavours. He had lost his glasses – twice – and had led her in the wrong direction on numerous occasions. He had annoyed her. He had hurt her. He had even fallen asleep on her, only to wake and find that she had taken over guard duty instead, and looked haggard as a result.

'No,' Wheatley bitterly thought, 'I haven't been of any use to her at all. It's no wonder her dad didn't like me. He could probably see what a waste of space I'd turn out to be.'

A waste of space. That's what he'd been called at school. Repeatedly, in fact. And it were these words, amongst other, that had driven him to sign up for the Aperture-Espial Academy Exchange programme in the first place. Two whole months away from his own horrible school. Two months in which he could make something better of himself – somewhere to start fresh, where people didn't know him. His fellow Espial students had little time for him, so he was able to mingle with the Aperture children instead.

That was when he had first seen Chell, trying to join her classmates in a game of tag. They had only pushed her away, both verbally and physically, and laughed as she had run away in tears. Wheatley had later learnt that she never told her parents of these incidents – and there had been many of them – because she was afraid that it was all her fault. But how could it have been her fault? She was perfect. It was the other kids who were flawed.

He watched, for weeks, as she was bullied, taunted and teased for her inability to read, and her daily struggle to communicate. It was only as he befriended her that he had seen what a beautiful smile she had, even as a child. And she had wanted to spend time with him, convincing her parents to invite him to dinner and to let them play after school had finished.

Wheatley felt privileged to be her friend: it was far more than he deserved.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Chell was shivering. It was cold in here, and the temperature had dropped considerably since his run in with the sharpened floor. He considered waking her up, so that they could find somewhere warmer for her to sleep, but she really did need all the rest that she could get. It was then that he actually felt his tracksuit rub against his skin, and he removed it quickly, laying it over Chell like a blanket. As luck would have it, in her curled-up sleeping state, it covered pretty much most of her body. Her tiny, but amazingly strong and powerful body. She had always been so tiny.

Wheatley couldn't understand it. Her father was like him, tall, and well over six foot high. Her mother was of an average height for a woman. Why was Chell so tiny? She was like a precious china doll, one that you handled with care for the fear of breaking her. Coupled with those big, bright blue eyes, as clear as crystal and as pure as the sky, well, the illusion was complete. And her lips! How could he forget those rosy pink-lips that, though they were badly chapped and in the need of some lip balm, were so... so...

'Oh God, what am I doing?' He thought, holding his head in his hands. Why was he looking at her like this? She was his friend – his best friend – and nothing more. He wasn't supposed to find her attractive!

Now he was trying his hardest to make her seem unattractive. He tried to imagine her in gaudy clothes, or with two buck teeth, but his imagination just kept taking him back to her battle-worn, but oddly beautiful face and, more importantly, her soul - the very thing that made Chell herself, and nobody else.

Wheatley moaned a little, froze, and looked over to where Chell remained asleep. He hadn't woken her. 'Oh God, she's even beautiful in her sleep. I can't get away from it!' With nothing else to do he stood and paced about the floor, keeping his full concentration upon the two doors into the warehouse, the several windows, and on the small hole in the roof. The last thing they needed right now was for a headcrab to attack them.

The sooner they were back at Aperture, the better. Though Wheatley felt that there was something amiss in the facility, at least they would be back in familiar and alien-free territory. In truth, Wheatley would rather take his chances with GLaDOS than with a gunship. At least he had overthrown GLaDOS once and, as psychopathic as she was, he knew her methods. The Combine seemed to excel in changing tactics, even when using idiot footsoldiers. It deeply worried him.

As the hours passed, Wheatley watched the dark sky turn into the pinkish orange hue of a new day. He wondered where they would be going next, as Chell was the one who knew her way around these parts. He just followed behind, like a faithful old hound, and waiting for the next chance to rest.

In his head he could hear Sii-Hya clearly: "you will be The Forever Faithful". Yes, it most certainly felt like that right now. He had been to the moon and back, but still he remained by Chell's side, even in the most difficult and dangerous of times. What concerned him most was what had been meant by the rest of Sii-Hya's address. "The one to carry Aperture through both dark and light. You will be keeper of all things, and he who creates lives anew". Lives anew? What in Hell was that supposed to mean? He programmed computer systems, and had dabbled in robotics occasionally. He didn't create life! As for Aperture, well, wasn't Chell Aperture? Of course he'd look after her, no matter the consequences. She was his friend.

No, she was more than his friend. She...

With a sigh, Wheatley broke up his thoughts. It wasn't like she saw him the way he saw her anyway, that much was abundantly clear to him. No, it was best to just avoid the issue completely, to pretend as though it did not exist. He was sure that, after a while, he'd feel better. It wouldn't hurt to think of her going off with some other man, or possibly even a woman. Who knew? All he knew was that this somebody wouldn't be him. She needed someone who was just as strong as she was, someone who could match her smarts. In short, she needed someone like her dad, and Wheatley was as far removed from being Cave Johnson than was actually physically possible.

He was glad that it couldn't be him, really. That way he couldn't screw it up.

The shuffling and sneezing behind him heralded Chell's return to the land of the living. Turning to face her, he found her blinking into the early morning light. She shook her head, as though trying to shake the excess light away from her eyes.

'Morning, sunshine!' Wheatley chirped, earning himself a look of grouchy disapproval.

'Cheer up! It's a great day! Just look at that sunlight! And not a cloud in the sky. Perfect.'

Three hours later, it was as though the Heavens had opened up on them.

'Well, this... was unexpected.' Wheatley spat out some of the rainwater that he had inadvertently swallowed whilst speaking.

'You're telling me.' Chell thought, ducking beneath the natural canopy that the trees provided. Wheatley followed her example, and the two of the cut through the woods, following an unseen path that only Chell knew.

'One question: where are we actually going? This doesn't look like a wheat field to me.'

'I have something to do first, Wheatley. I'm sorry, but I have to.' She bit her lip. 'It's important.'

Wheatley, unaware of Chell's internal thoughts, continued. 'I mean, there's trees. Lots of them in fact. But wheat? None. Zero. Nil points. No open field either, so we need to make a note of that, really.'

Chell ignored him. As much as she cared for him, he was sometimes best ignored.

She led them through the thickest of the woods, occasionally hiding behind any available cover to check if their path ahead was clear. Wheatley considered asking her if she were, in truth, lost, but judging by her sure-footed steps, and the look of sheer anticipation on her face, he knew with all of the certainty in the world that they were not lost. They were just on a minor detour.

Eventually the woods thinned out, but their path was blocked by an imposing high wall. It was broken in places, allowing entrance to the space inside. The cemetery.

Now Wheatley understood Chell's directions. In fact, he wondered just why he had not seen this sooner. Of course she would want to come here on the way. It would have killed her if she did not.

He watched as Chell weaved through the headstones and mausoleums. All of the epitaphs were ruined thanks to time and weather, but most of them had also been damaged by the war that had unfolded around them. Keeping a few respectful steps behind her, Wheatley examined each headstone as they passed, making a note of the names and the damage that had been done to their graves. It sickened him to think that most of these people had had their memories sullied in such a violent and unemotional way. He could only hope that the graves Chell sought after had not suffered the same fate.

Chell slowed to a stop, and Wheatley followed her example. At first he pulled out his gun, a small pistol type creation whose name he could not remember, and readied himself for a fight that he would have much rather avoided. But Chell wasn't looking at a group of masks, or a tangle of towering alien legs. Her eyes had settled on the grave ahead of them. A grave that he knew bore two names, and which had, by luck, not been damaged in the conflict. It was filthy, yes, and most definitely worn down, but it stood proud and in one whole piece.

With a shuddering breath Chell continued, coming to kneel at the side of the headstone. Wheatley could only watch as she brushed away layers of dirt and grime with her fingers, slowly revealing the words beneath;

In loving memory of Cave Johnson,

Born 3rd May 1931, Died 23rd December 1982.

A devoted husband, father and friend.

May his passion for science live on in the heart of Aperture Science, and in the love of those he left behind.

Also of Caroline Johnson,

Born 16th August 1933, Died 27th October 1985.

A devoted wife, mother and friend.

May her strength be a guiding light in the darkest of times. May her love inspire compassion in others.

As both were one in life, be one again in death.

It was only as Wheatley finished reading the words that he realised that he had also been reading them to Chell. He also realised that she was trembling – no, crying. She was crying.

'Oh God,' he thought, 'what do I do? What do I do! Do I... hug her, or something? Would she want that?'

As Wheatley had an argument with himself, Chell clung onto the grave as though it were the only thing giving her strength. In the ground beneath her feet were her parents, encased within caskets. It all seemed so unfitting for them, to be left buried under the ground, to rot. The image sent a chill down her spine, and her fingers tightened around the stone.

Unwanted memories flooded her vision; her father's funeral and her mother's words at the church service. Watching as her father's body descended into the soil. She had not been to her mother's funeral, something that Chell still regretted, but Doug had said that it was not safe for her to go and she knew that he had been right. Lucian Johnson would have been waiting for her. Instead she had come here many years ago, on her first return to Aperture. She knew that they would be buried together – they had both demanded that it be so - and had taken them flowers to decorate their forgotten and unloved grave.

Why had Uncle Gregg and Aunt Sofia left the grave alone? Surely they would have looked after it – at least, she had expected it. Then again, she had not seen them when she had broken into Aperture disguised as a courier. And she had looked for them. When she found Doug, hiding in one of his dens, he was too distracted and too unwell to answer her silent questions, composed of hand gestures and crude drawings. He had only told her to go, to leave Aperture before something terrible happened to her.

In retrospect, she should have at least taken heed of his warning.

But where were Sofia and Gregg? Had Lucian Johnson done something to them? Had they left Aperture, and possibly even Michigan itself? Was it something to do with the death of her mother..?

Death. Her mother. Chell's attention was drawn back to the present, and her thought-blinded vision refocused on the grave beneath her hands. 'Oh God,' she choked, taking in salty tears and thick mucus as they streamed down her face, 'and I didn't even bring any flowers.'

'Focus on the positive, Chell.' She told herself, trying to regain control of her emotions. 'Mom is still alive, in a manner of speaking. She's in GLaDOS. She's alive. And dad...' Her thoughts broke down into chaos, wrought with pain. He wasn't trapped inside a computer. He wouldn't be able to speak to her upon her return. He had died a terribly slow and painful death, and the only thing that remained of him was the skeleton buried beneath her.

Wherever he was now though, it had to be better than this war-torn Hell-hole of a planet. She simply refused to believe that he could be somewhere worse.

Yes, she had learnt that he had done terrible things during her time in the fifties sector of Aperture. He had done reckless, stupid things, things that betrayed how juvenile he had been in his attitude towards the lives of others. Science, testing and results were all that he had cared for back then. She was not proud of this attitude that he had had in the past, but when she had been born he had calmed down considerably by comparison. Even though he hated the homeless Test Subjects, he still made sure that they were well aware of the risks involved. Their tests were less deadly, and they were even given the precursor to the Long Fall Boot so that they would not break their legs in a fall.

He had changed somewhere between those two time periods, and she suspected that her mother was instrumental to this shift in attitude. Chell had always suspected that she brought out the best in him. Her mother had brought the best out in most people. It was just a shame she did not have this effect on him. But Lucian Johnson was not a regular being, she knew. He cared for no one, not even the son who had so often vied for his favour and attention.

Chell had rarely seen this boy, but she knew his name - Mark. Yet, once again, he was somebody else whose fate was unknown to her. She hoped that it had been well spent, with as little of his father's impact as was possible. He deserved a better father than that waste of space.

'Chell?' Wheatley's voice broke her from her thoughts. 'Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.'

In surprise, Chell merely nodded. But Wheatley could read her expression like a book and, in a sudden and inspired moment of executive decision making, walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He was expecting her to push him away, or to punch him in the nose. He was not expecting her to turn in his arms and hug him back.

And she cried into his chest, clinging onto the fabric that he wore. Wheatley was absolutely terrified; apart form that one incident at the Academy, with the bullying children, he had never seen her cry. He didn't know what to do with her. Did he rub her back? Did he speak? How long would she hold onto him like this? He had so many questions, and no possible way of getting an answer for them. But Chell soon let go of her own accord and, with weak and shaking legs, managed to push herself up from the ground. She was still shivering when she planted two kisses on the gravestone, and when she had finally found the strength to leave the grave behind. When Wheatley managed to hold her hand in reassurance he realised why she was shivering so badly; she was chilled to the bone.

He needed to get her somewhere warm, somewhere where she could relax properly and regain some sort of strength, whether it be emotional or physical. Or both. This visit had taken a lot out of her already battered body, and she had been out in this alien world a lot longer than he had. He was constantly tired because of it, his nerves frayed. He could only guess as to how Chell felt, but he knew that she would feel much, much worse.

She needed a break.

Wheatley suddenly had yet another inspired thought; if they were this close to the local town, and to the cemetery, then that meant that they would be close to the old farmhouse that had been her family's weekend abode. If that was still standing it could well give them an effective shelter. When he suggested this idea to Chell, however, the wide-eyed look of terror told him that his plan had not been so inspired after all.

And he knew why.

So many of the old farmhouses in the area had been turned into Civil Protection outposts. If Chell knew that her own home had been violated in this way then it would have destroyed her. He couldn't do that to her, even is she was in dire need of a break. No, he would simply have to think of something else. An old diner? No, they often got the same treatment as the farmhouses.

Just how far were they from Aperture? Could she make it there now without collapsing from exhaustion, as it clearly seemed that she would? She had held out this far, showing no signs of weakness, and now that she was it could only mean one thing; her mind was willing, but her body was weak, threatening to do her some terrible damage.

As the trees vanished, and the hills flattened into a vast field of dull gold, it became obvious that it was only a matter of time until they found that old "abandoned" shed, and the sole entrance to the facility once the main entrance and the Academy had been destroyed in the wake of GLaDOS' initial destruction by Chell's hands.

He just needed to give her some encouragement. Something to keep her going.

'Hey, do you remember when we played hide and seek in the aquatic biology department? I pretended I was a fish – you saw right through me. I know we're adults now, but hide and seek isn't completely out of the question. We just need a tank and some fish though.'

He noticed the small smile on her lips and continued. 'And, of course, there's your favourite – the physics department. I'm sure we can convince her to let you do some of those experiments that you always wanted to do. Your mum definitely will, I know that much.'

Upon hearing of her mother, Chell's steps became a little more sure-footed. Encouraged with her progress he thought of something else. 'And Companion Cubes! Cubes! Everywhere! A whole facility full of them, just waiting for you to come home and lavish them with attention. No pressure here, but there is a lot of cuboid-based love to go around.'

She smiled again. But as soon as she had smiled she had collapsed into a heap on the ground.

'Chell!' Wheatley was by her side in no time at all, trying to shake her awake. 'Oh, God! Chell! Chell!' What had he done? Had her burst of strength been too much for her? Was he to blame for this? 'Please, Chell! Get up!'

She remained unconscious.

'No. No, no, no, this can't be happening now! We're so close, for pity's sake! Come on..!' Wheatley scooped Chell into his arms, struggling with her dead weight. But he needed to carry her. It was the only way to get her somewhere safe. And the last time he had been in this field there had been antlions... He shuddered at the thought of the giant alien insects trying to eat the both of them and he broke into a sprint, following the direction in which he believed the shed to be.

He had to make it. They had to make it. He had promised to get her home safely. He had promised, and Wheatley Morrison was not the kind of man who broke his promises.

His muscles burnt in his arms as Chell's body became gradually more and more heavy. His legs screamed at him to stop. He had no idea how long he had been running. But the rain had eventually stopped, leaving a slight parting in the cloudy sky. Beyond it he could see a pale blue sky. This would most likely be the last he would see of that same sky, at least for a while. He made a mental note of just how beautiful it actually was. People took the sky for granted – it was only when you knew you would not see it again that you began to admire its clear and calming hue. Much like Chell's eyes...

But then the chirping began; quiet at first, but gradually growing louder and louder. He saw the flutter of oversized wings in the corner of his eye. The antlions were still here.

'Shit!' He cried, putting on a burst of speed to avoid the teeth of the large bugs, though he could hear them in close pursuit behind. 'Shit, shit, shit! I am not your dinner!' He swerved around an antlion as it flew towards him, narrowly missing Chell's head. 'And Chell is not desert! Bugger off!'

But they persisted. And there were plenty of the brightly coloured, ant-shaped behemoths.

Wheatley had begun to think that he had been running in the wrong direction when, on the horizon, he could make out a single and solitary construction. Too small to be a house, but too big to be a power station. As they drew closer towards it, Wheatley could just make out the shape. A shed. Their shed. The gateway to Aperture. He had to make it now – he couldn't fall at the final hurdle, he just couldn't! They had come so far, they had survived the city, a train wreck, weeks of pursuit... they couldn't die now. Where was the sense in dying now?

A sharp bite at his leg served as a reminder that he should run faster. With one final burst of speed the shed lurched ever closer. Yet the door remained closed.

'Come on, GLaDOS!' His mind screamed with all the fury that his aching lungs could not muster, as busy as they were with breathing. 'Open the door! Open it!'

Was she even watching? Had she expected the to never return? Why would she not open the door now? Did she need him to tell her what to do? With no other hope, he filled his lungs full of air and bellowed, 'Open the bloody door!'

And the door opened, swinging with a creak, and leaving him enough space to get both himself and Chell inside. Just a few more running steps... five steps... four steps... three steps... another bite on the same leg... two steps... one step...

Light turned to dark, as Wheatley fell into the lift beyond with Chell still held safely in his arms. Behind him he heard the door slam shut and, as the lights were turned on, he saw that an antlion leg had been trapped by the heavy metal bulkhead and severed. It now lay lifeless on the floor.

'Oh thank God!' He panted, leaning against the glass of the elevator. It felt pleasantly cool to his burning head. 'Thanks, GLaDOS, for not letting them eat us.'

The gears of the elevator groaned into life, descending them deep below the surface of the Earth. Wheatley watched as level upon level passed them slowly, and he watched with interest as a multitude of robots were seen making their ways from offices and along the corridors. He had been sure that there had not been this many robots before, with eyes as purple as an eggplant. There presence only made him feel nervous.

Chell shifted, ever so slightly, catching him off guard and causing him to nearly drop her. In fact, his arms were drooping, as was his whole body. He felt drained and ill. Something was wrong. A run shouldn't have made him feel so... so... painfully numb. It was only then that he felt a warm and trickling sensation down the back of his leg, and he turned to find the bloody gash of his now torn leg. Skin and muscle were torn, and a large pool of his own blood gathered around his feet, seeping up his boots. And he screamed.

The lift slowed to a stop, not in GLaDOS' chamber, but in front of a door that opened into a corridor beyond. And in that corridor was Atlas and P-Body. Ecstatic at first, they danced and whooped with joy. Then they noticed Chell's unconscious state, and Wheatley's mangled leg, and their festivities were over.

'Blue. Orange.' Wheatley stepped from the lift, tripping slightly over his own leg. Adrenaline had been a wonderful thing up on the surface, but now that it had left him his leg had become a hindrance. 'Please, get Chell some help. She's been doing everything, and now she's collapsed and... and...' He felt breathless. Dizzy. 'I don't know what to do. Please, just help her. I don't know what's wrong with her.'

He wondered just why the two robots seemed to be growing in height. Why did he feel as though he were sinking?

'Please. Please... help us.' Why did it feel as though his knees were on the floor, and just why was his blood around his shins?

'Get... get GLaDOS or something. Get Mrs. Johnson. Please, help. Help.' Wheatley felt the last of the air in his lungs filter out into the corridor before the world went dark.